


Sorted

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Mycroft, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Spooning, Top Greg Lestrade, well not actually married but close enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of A Study in PInk, you didn't think Mycroft and Greg went to separate homes, did you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorted

Mycroft gave Anthea her orders, watching John and Sherlock walk away. “When that’s done, go home,” he said, turning and looking back at Greg, who was giving orders of his own. He looked up and their eyes met. Mycroft gave a nod and Greg gave a smile.

Getting back in his car, Mycroft leaned on his umbrella the whole way home, pondering this new enigma that was one John Watson. In only a few hours Mycroft had seen that he wasn’t like anyone else that had entered his brother’s life. He could only hope he would be a good influence. If nothing else, he’d shot a cabbie to protect him, so at least he could count on Dr. Watson to keep Sherlock safe.

Arriving home, Mycroft left his umbrella by the door and went into the kitchen, taking out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He was pouring when he heard the door open and close. In a moment Greg’s hands were circling his hips, kissing his shoulder.

“It would be a shame if you made me spill this wine,” said Mycroft, finishing his pour, setting down the bottle, and turning in Greg’s arms.

Greg kissed him gently. “That’s true. And there’s been enough mess as it is.” He sighed and took his glass, sipping it. “John Watson was the shooter, wasn’t he? Sherlock stopped talking the minute he showed up.”

“You are far more clever than he likes to give you credit for,” said Mycroft, picking up his own glass and following him into the study.

“Well we’re all ants next to him. Save you. I _know_ you’re smarter than he is, whether or not he’d ever admit it.”

“He does, from time to time,” said Mycroft, settling in his chair. “You will keep Watson out of the official report, yes?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Give me a little credit, Mycroft. I’ve been dealing with your brother for five years now, after all.”

“And dating me for almost four.” Mycroft sipped his wine. “I think Watson will be a good addition.”

“I think so too. From everything I’ve seen, John’s a good man. Maybe a little reckless, but Sherlock’s different around him.” Greg relaxed in his own chair, looking at the fireplace. “Maybe we won’t have to spend so much time minding him.” He gave Mycroft a sly smile. “You might be forced to find another hobby. Stamp collecting? Haute cuisine? Toppling third world governments?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, glancing at his mobile. Anthea had finished up the surveillance. “I suppose time will tell. You’ve had a long few weeks. Bed?”

“With you? Always.” Greg drained his glass and got his feet, leaning in to kiss Mycroft.

Mycroft returned the kiss, running his fingers through Greg’s hair, tasting the wine on his lips.

“You’ve been smoking again,” admonished Greg. “Thought we were quitting.”

“It’s been a long day,” said Mycroft, getting to his feet and carrying the glasses to the kitchen.

“I know. But Sherlock is fine and the case of the serial suicides is closed. We can sleep easier tonight.” Greg wove his fingers through Mycroft’s and tugged him upstairs. 

They went through their usual nightly routine. Mycroft watched Greg in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, enjoying the view as he usually did. Most just saw a slightly frumpy, overworked Inspector, but Mycroft knew he was in better shape than most men his age. Greg often commented on the man underneath Mycroft’s suits, but Mycroft felt the same way about Greg’s regular choice of clothes.

They climbed into bed and Greg spooned around Mycroft, running his hand underneath his pyjama shirt. Smiling, Mycroft rocked back against him.

“Mmm,” muttered Greg, nosing his hair and kissing the back of his neck. “I’m still pretty awake.” He let his hand drift down, sliding it into Mycroft’s pyjama bottoms and cupping his cock through his pants.

“I could probably be convinced,” said Mycroft, rubbing their feet together.

Greg dipped his hand into Mycroft’s pants. Groaning softly, Mycroft reached back to grab Greg’s arse, pulling him up against himself. Greg nibbled his shoulder, thrusting lightly through their clothes.

Mycroft rolled over, kissing Greg as he pushed him onto his back. He shimmied out of his clothes and straddled Greg’s waist, smiling warmly down at him.

“Gorgeous,” muttered Greg, reaching up to tweak one of Mycroft’s nipples.

Kissing him one more time. Mycroft reached over and grabbed the lube, kneeling back and fingering himself.

Greg licked his lips and pulled out his cock, watching him as he stroked himself.

Mycroft moaned softly and Greg reached over to rub his thumb along his thigh. Mycroft leaned in to kiss him again, shifting up. He wasn’t entirely prepared, but he didn’t mind; he needed Greg inside of him.

Instead, Greg hooked an arm around his waist and rolled them over again, lubing his own fingers and pressing two inside. “Another minute won’t hurt,” he said against Mycroft’s throat, kissing trailing feather-light along the pale skin.

Mycroft grumbled a bit, then moaned as Greg crooked his fingers, arching up off the bed as he found the spot he was looking for.

“That’s right gorgeous,” whispered Greg, rolling them back over again and this time guiding Mycroft down onto his cock.

Bracing himself on Greg’s chest, Mycroft bore down, watching his lover’s eyes. Greg had that smile he wore only for him, something soft and gentle and heated that made Mycroft’s heart constrict in his chest, even after all this time. 

Reaching up, Greg’s hand settled on the back of Mycroft’s neck, drawing him down for a slow kiss, still thrusting steadily. His free hand worked between them to take Mycroft in hand.

Mycroft moaned deeply. Greg rolled them over again without breaking the kiss or his rhythm. Mycroft loved nothing more than the feeling of Greg’s weight on him, strong and firm. Claiming nearly silently as they moved together.

Greg leaned on his elbow, kissing down Mycroft’s jaw, twisting his hand just _so_ at the same time as he thrust deep. Mycroft gave a small cry and spilled over his hand, deliciously helpless underneath him and holding his shoulders.

Pining Mycroft’s wrists, Greg doubled his efforts and came himself only a few moments later. He kissed Mycroft and carefully pulled out, before rolling him onto his side and spooning around him again, carefully moving him away from the wet spot before throwing a blanket over them.

“Don’t move, don’t get dressed,” he murmured against the back of Mycroft’s neck, holding him tight.

“We’ll get sticky,” muttered Mycroft, eyes already closing.

“Too late for that. Shower in the morning.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
